


Hot Property

by everdreamy



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Crime Fighting, Espionage, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everdreamy/pseuds/everdreamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An action story, set between Season 1 and Season 2. A little angst and romance to come, but first we've got to catch the bad guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Brief

The morning’s briefing had been short. Recent intel indicated a highly important shipment was being smuggled into the country. Murmurings in the local underworld revealed that preparations were being made for it’s arrival within city limits in less than eighteen hours. The details on the payload were vague, but the shipment appeared to be highly sensitive. 

When Liz had relayed Red’s initial info to the team she couldn’t help noticing how much Ressler’s attention was triggered by one of the names involved. Ressler had been slouched in Cooper’s office, listening with the usual half-smirk he assumed for anything to do with Red. At the mention of Vandenberg’s name he sat suddenly upright and stared directly at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen in him since well before the Tanida incident.

“Did you say Vandenberg’s involved?”, he interrupted, spacing the words out slowly and carefully.

“Yes, Red said there’s whispers that he’s potentially holding the bankroll for the operation.” She gazed back levelly at him, noting the surprise evident in his eyes and a flash of something pass across his face. Fear? She wondered, no, it was more like excitement. Interesting, she’d have to find out what was behind that.

Walter Gary Martin spoke up, “Okay then, we can’t do much more until HE gives us more info.” The emphasis placed on the ‘he’ making his feelings towards Red blatantly clear. “Pull together everything you can on this Vandenberg guy. We’ll reconvene in the war room in fifteen minutes.” On that dismissal Liz and Ressler rose to leave. 

With Cooper still in hospital Walter Gary Martin had taken over control of the Taskforce. In essence this mostly involved him spending hours on the phone in Cooper’s office, or disappearing from the Post Office for mysteriously long periods of time. Occasionally he’d saunter out and make his smarmy presence known in the war room, glaring suspiciously at Liz or hovering menacingly over Aram. Aram was never good at hiding his nervousness and Liz could see that Martin got a thrill out of making him sweat. Ressler he left alone, and on the rare occasion when Red was onsite Martin pretty much disappeared altogether. Liz felt this was a pretty good summation of his character - acting like a schoolyard bully to those he viewed as weaker than himself and avoiding anyone who could reasonably pose a threat. She hated when he hung around watching her. His eyes reminded her of a snake and she felt like prey trapped within the glass confines of the war room. Just the sight of the man made her skin crawl, but she had to work with him until Cooper’s return so she put up with it.

With this distinct lack of effective leadership it had become startling clear just how important Cooper’s role was in the team. Ressler had naturally stepped up to fill the gap. It may have been Walter Gary Martin barking the orders, but it was Ressler acting as team leader, rallying the troops and providing the cohesiveness needed for them to continue functioning effectively.

Despite her resignation prior to the Berlin debacle, the Taskforce was still in existence and Liz was still part of the FBI. There had been no mentions of her attempt to resign and no real discussions on her reinstatement. One morning a text message had simply appeared on her phone stating “MY OFFICE 0900 WGM”. The meeting had been brief and Martin had appeared strained, like he was discussing something incredibly distasteful and against his will. He refused to make eye contact with her and addressed all of his instructions to a point on the wall just over her left shoulder. She was expected to continue with the Taskforce and she was expected to continue liaising with Raymond Reddington. The unsaid part of the conversation hung heavily in the air before he dismissed her from his office. Liz didn’t need it spelled out. He didn’t trust her, and he sure as hell didn’t trust Reddington. She assumed her conduct and all her dealings with Red would be subject to his intense scrutiny from this point forward.

After weeks of searching the trail to Berlin had gone cold. The man had simply walked out of the hospital and not been sighted or heard from since. Red still seemed on edge and far more serious than usual, but as each day passed with no news and no retaliation Liz could see the old facade returning. The jests and jibes were back, and the ever irritating trademark smug arrogance. Since the arrest he’d been far more wary of the Post Office, his visits had dropped off dramatically and he would summon Liz to see him rather than coming in. The meet-ups were always in different locations, a park today, a coffee shop tomorrow, or one of his ever-changing safe houses. She kept their interactions brief and professional, sometimes struggling to keep the anger she felt towards him under check. She knew the anger masked something deeper, but was unwilling to investigate those feelings further. Far safer to stay angry for now, and his lack of presence at work made it easier to keep everything under control. 

So she was quite surprised when ten minutes after they’d returned to the war room he strode in. Dressed in one of his favoured light-toned three piece suits he surveyed the room with a devilish grin, confidence oozing out of every pore. Dembe stepped silently in behind him and took up his position by the door.

“Good morning Agent Ressler!” he announced, “Have I got a treat for you. But first - I’ve brought bagels for breakfast. There’s this marvelous little bakery on the corner of -” 

“Yeah Reddington, no time for stories this morning. We’re waiting to hear what you’ve got for us.” Ressler snapped at him, all gruff and business. 

Liz pulled her eyes away from Red’s grandiose entry and surveyed Ressler thoughtfully. She’d noticed earlier how tired he looked, dark circles under his eyes. Definitely still not sleeping. She knew yesterday was supposed to be one of his mandatory scheduled sessions with the psych. She also knew he hadn’t attended. The last few months had been so hard. He’d barely given himself time to grieve Audrey properly, not to mention the betrayal by Jonica. Then came the attacks on Meera and Cooper. The whole team had felt these losses, but Ressler carried his grief like a personal responsibility. She could see his determination to just keep on going, burying himself in his work to avoid thinking about it all. He’d have to deal with it at some point, she just hoped it wouldn’t be through a complete breakdown.

“Manners please Donald. I went to a lot of effort being thoughtful of you all this morning. The least you could do is try one?” Red offered him a large cardboard pastry box. At Ressler’s lack of response he shrugged and laid the box down in the centre of the table. “Partake people!” he announced, waving his arms magnanimously.

Aram looked around the table uncomfortably before leaning forward to take a bagel. “Mmm!” he exclaimed, nodding a hesitant thanks in Red’s direction. Liz smiled to herself. She knew something had gone down between Aram and Red when Aram had been identified as the Blacksite mole. By the time the FBI had arrived at Aram’s apartment he had already been spirited away by Red. She had no idea what occurred between them, knowing Red it was likely cold and brutal and would not have been a pleasant experience for Aram. Afterwards Red had sent him back to the Blacksite, unharmed and with proof of his innocence. Since that day Liz had noticed a distinct change in Aram around Red. He was definitely still scared of him, but there was something else there too - perhaps a note of admiration for Mr Reddington?

Red acknowledged Aram’s thanks with a satisfied smile before unbuttoning his jacket and settling into a chair at the work table. He placed his hat carefully on the table beside him and leered cheekily across at Liz. 

“Good morning Lizzie. You’re looking very … thoughtful this morning.” His eyes darted between her and Ressler and then Aram, as if trying to see what it was that she was finding so fascinating about them both today.

Guiltily she started, realising that he’d been observing her staring. She turned wide innocent eyes on him and tried to stop the blush threatening to spread across her cheeks. The man was too quick, always watching and taking everything in. It was impossible to put anything past him. Well, maybe not completely impossible - there were perhaps a few secrets he didn’t know about … yet. She maintained eye contact for a few seconds, staring directly into his green eyes, not wanting to concede this one to him.

He broke eye contact first, chuckling at catching her out and turned back to Ressler. “So, Miles Vandenberg is up to his old tricks again. I believe you also have had the pleasure of crossing paths with him in the past Donald?”

If Ressler was surprised at Red’s knowledge he didn’t show it. They’d all become used to the man’s seeming omniscience and it was now easier to just accept it rather than go the frustrating path of trying to find out how he knew what he knew. Even better, Red seemed to expect them to question how he obtained his information and a slight twitch under his eye would give away how much it irked him when they didn’t ask. Anything that irked Red was a win as far as Ressler was concerned.

“Yes, a joint operation with Montreal about 6 years ago. He was running an operation smuggling handguns over the US-Canada border. We got close, but when we raided his workshop he’d been tipped off and was already gone.” Ressler looked away, a touch of defeat in his voice, but not before Liz noticed again the gleam in his eyes at the mention of Vandenberg’s name.

To his credit Red didn’t take the opportunity to make disparaging remarks on Ressler’s abilities. “Very unfortunate that you didn’t nab him, because his activities over the years have caused me all sorts of headaches.” As he spoke Red stared intently at Ressler, gauging his reaction. Liz realised that Red knew that this one was important to Ressler. Had he brought it to their attention on purpose? If so, what was his angle. She’d worked with the man for a year now, if she’d learned anything at all it was that Red did not do anything that didn’t benefit himself in some way. She scrutinised his face as he talked, looking for any tells as to what he was up to.

“That particular smuggling operation was flooding the Canadian market with cheap handguns,” Red continued, still staring at Ressler. “It undercut the existing suppliers and drove more than one out of business. The repercussions were quite … costly … to my financial interests.”

As always when Red began hinting at his clandestine activities the mood in the room changed. Aram and Liz glanced uncomfortably at each other across the table. Ressler still seemed intent on avoiding Red’s gaze.

“Oh come now, don’t look so shocked. There’s no need to play the coy FBI Agent, we all know what business I’m in. Miles Vanderberg is another story though, isn’t he Donald? The secret to good business is good business relations. Diplomacy, negotiation, a little give and take. Miles’ tactic is more akin to rape and pillage. The man gets his kicks destroying markets for a quick buck, then while everyone’s scrambling to collect the pieces he disappears into the wind only to turn up again a few months later with a repeat performance. He’s got as much style and finesse as a bulldozer.” Red finished with a frown. “I do, however, know exactly when and where this next shipment will be arriving. Perhaps this time we can stop the bulldozer in his tracks.”

This finally snapped Ressler’s attention back to Red. “You know where he is?” he demanded.

“No Donald, I don’t know where he is. I know where he will be though. For something this sensitive I’m sure he’ll be wanting to handle it personally.” Red stared smugly back at Ressler. 

“What is he shipping?” asked Liz, leaning forward to watch Red’s response.

“I have no idea. It’s not large though, they’re only using a small boat.” He gestured towards the screen. “Can you bring up Deadwood Cove on that thing?”

Aram quickly typed and a satellite image appeared on screen. The cove was ringed by opulent homes on large tracts of land. Most of the homes were surrounded by high privacy walls and security fences, encompassing large tree-covered grounds. The satellite image showed boat sheds, small boats and pontoons strung along the water’s edge and a number of larger vessels moored further out.

Red went through the location details quickly. The boat would arrive after 8pm. The water was too shallow for a boat that size to get close, so a smaller tender would be used to approach the shore. There was a private pontoon, only accessible via water or through the grounds of the house. The house was currently unoccupied, the owner residing overseas. There was no link between Vandenberg and the property. Due to Vandenberg’s presence they could expect that he would have his own armed security force with him.

After his spiel Red looked pointedly at Ressler. “It would probably be in your interest to bring Vandenberg in alive. I’m sure with the right … persuasion … you’ll find that the man has many many useful things to tell.” 

They were interrupted by Dembe quietly stepping forward and stopping by Red’s shoulder. “It’s time, Raymond,” he said in his soft voice. 

Red rose, collecting his hat as he went. “Must rush, I have a jet to catch. Have fun on your little jaunt tonight Agent Ressler.” 

“Lizzie, a pleasure as always,” he purred as he brushed past her. She felt a tiny shiver at his touch on her arm.

As he left the room Liz got up and followed, catching him as he reached the elevator.

“Wait, Red .. where are you going?” she asked. 

“Oh just business. I’ll be back tonight, will be a delight to see how you’ve all got on.” Red smirked. He lowered his voice to add, “I hope Donald appreciates the little gift I’ve thrown his way.”

“What are you playing at Red? It’s obvious he’s got more than a passing interest in this Vandenberg guy.” Liz asked, concern in her voice.

“It’s nothing Donald can’t handle Lizzie. In fact, I think he deserves a nice satisfying win, don’t you?” With a parting nod Red stepped into the elevator and Dembe pressed the button.

Liz could only watch them ascend with a worrying feeling in her stomach.


	2. Stung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sting goes awry.

Liz crouched in the dark, hidden from the house by the trunk of a sturdy tree. A short distance away to her left Ressler crouched in a similar position. Beyond him another two team members. Tucked into the strip of shadowy woods that ran along the right-hand side of the house, they had an uninterrupted view of the entire rear courtyard area. The courtyard was vast, it’s golden sandstone paving stretched at least forty metres out from the house. Decorative raised garden beds edged each side and a thick green hedge walled the bottom end. The hedge was broken midway by a decorative arch, leading to a paved pathway down to the boathouse and pontoon. The area glowed under the soft yellow light of strategically placed garden lamps and a scattering of fairy lights. Under different circumstances Liz would have found the whole scene enchanting, the perfect place to entertain.

Tonight the courtyard was empty of celebration. The yellow lights held no warmth and crouching beneath the trees was cold and damp. The undergrowth was prickling at her legs and made it difficult to get comfortable. She shivered in her light coat, wishing now that she’d worn a heavier one. Living out of a suitcase was proving restrictive as far as wardrobe choices went. This coat fitted well over her armoured vest though, and it’s lightness provided free movement of her arms and easier access to her shoulder holster. 

The woods were alive with sound around her. Loudest were the crickets, a constant chirping that tried to drown out all other noises. Her ears picked up the croak of frogs down near the boathouse, and a scurry of tiny feet in the undergrowth behind her. It was actually a relief to get away from the city for a while and listen to the wood’s cadence.

She glanced at the dim glow of her watch and then back up at the rear of the house. It was 7:05pm and so far there had been no signs of anyone else on the property. Ressler had placed the bulk of their team at the front, with orders to alert them if anyone arrived and to detain anyone trying to leave. His goal was to observe the shipment arriving so that they could determine what it was. They would then move in to take down Vandenberg with his hands dirty.

The minutes ticked on. 7:45 and there was still no movement at the house. 8pm. Nothing. 8:30. Nothing. 9pm. Still nothing.

Liz was tired. Her legs were now numb from the cold and lack of movement. Ressler shot her a resigned look, a half smile with a shoulder shrug. She was wondering how much longer he would give it before calling the night off when her earpiece suddenly came alive, “Car approaching via front drive.” She recognised the voice of Wright from Alpha team. 

Wright’s updates continued, “Slowing at front of house. Three occupants. All exiting vehicle. No weapons visible. Entering house via front door.” 

“Acknowledged,“ breathed Ressler. Distracted by the voice in his ear he missed the slight hiss and grunt in the darkness to his left. 

A light flickered on in the house, illuminating the line of floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the courtyard. Liz shifted forward to try and get a view inside, but the windows were masked with opaque blinds. As she moved she thought she glimpsed, or perhaps sensed, a movement to her left. Not Ressler, something else. Turning quickly she saw a black figure rise up behind Ressler and strike downwards at his head. Ressler crumpled under the blow. The movement was automatic, she’d already raised her gun, aimed and squeezed the trigger before she realised what she was doing. The shot rang loud in her ears and echoed off the rear of the house. The black figure jerked suddenly before collapsing slowly to the ground with a menacing hiss.

Rattled and rising to her feet, she felt the woods suddenly silent around her. Stepping forward she was stilled by a jarring touch of metal at back of her head. An impossibly low voice in her ear growled “Drop the gun missy!” No room to argue there. Her gun hit the dirt by her feet as she slowly raised her hands.

“Compromised! .. oomph!”, she heard Wright’s voice in her ear again. Obviously the front team weren’t faring any better.

The gun barrel jammed firmly into the base of her skull. A second man materialised out of the darkness, dressed in black and carrying a handgun. In his left hand he was holding what looked like an airhorn. He stepped in front of her to block any potential chance of escape.

“Any other weapons?” the voice behind her growled. A gloved hand gripped tight on her shoulder, fingers dug so deep into her collar bone that she could feel the bruises blossoming already.

Liz remained silent, mind racing to find a way out of the situation.

The second man moved closer and began patting her down, his hands thorough but tentative. With the gun at her head all she could do was let it happen. He quickly located her backup piece in the ankle holster and shook his head at her before throwing it into the trees. He then removed the radio from her ear and tugged sharply to pull the rest of the wiring from her sleeve, before sending it hurtling into the trees after the gun. 

“She’s clean,” he said to the man behind her. His voice sounded young and a little nervous. Nothing like the menacing growl behind the gun at her head.

“Check Hogan,” the voice growled at him. 

The younger man stepped over to where Ressler had been and reached down. 

“He’s dead,” he relayed.

“Leave him,” the growl snapped. “No time to clean up. Dose the agent.”

Liz heard the hiss sound again. The younger man was pointing the airhorn shaped device towards Ressler.

She lost her balance for a second as a rough boot shoved her legs apart.

“Cuff her.”

The younger man returned and pulled her arms down behind her back. She felt the nylon cuffs slip over her wrists and pull tight. The thin plastic dug painfully into her flesh.

“March,” the growl demanded to Liz, his gun harshly pressing her head forward. “Towards the boathouse. Now.”

She started the slow walk across the courtyard, towards the opening in the hedge.

* * * * * *

The pathway to the boathouse led straight down to a door set in the rear of the building, before turning and continuing on around the outer edge of the shed and on to the pontoon. As they approached the door it swung open, showing only darkness inside.

“Ready sir,” a voice in the darkness said.

The gun barrel nudged her forward through the doorway and she stepped inside onto what felt like wooden decking. She heard the growl and another person enter after her before the door was pulled shut. A dim blue light flicked on and the young man appeared beside her again. He roughly pulled her to face him and stretched a piece of heavy tape across her mouth.

Eyes wide, Liz scoped her surroundings. She could make out a horseshoe-shaped decking, stretching around the darkened perimeter of the building. There was a large inflatable boat floating in between the decking, three men already seated in it.

The growl used the gun to prod her in the neck again, hustling her towards the boat. She tentatively stepped aboard the rocking vessel and sat down, concentrating on balancing herself without the use of her arms. The growl followed her and sat close, jabbing the gun up into her armpit so he could slide the barrel inside her armoured vest. She heard the boathouse main doors slide back and then two more men settled into the boat with them. The outline of the door revealed black water and a few dim stars. A faint line showed where water and sky met, but there was no moon to illuminate anything. 

The men were silent as the boat pushed off from the dock and the boat’s motor started with a surprisingly quiet purr. They puttered slowly out of the boathouse and into the darkness.

Liz tried to keep track of where they were headed, but it was hard in the dark. They had definitely turned towards the left and were hugging the shoreline. She couldn’t determine how far they’d traveled or how many properties they had passed. She’d been able to make out eight pontoons so far and another was becoming visible in the distance. This time they didn’t skirt the pontoon, but headed towards it. The shape of another boat appeared, empty and already moored. As their boat nudged the edge of the pontoon the young man jumped out with a rope.Once secured the growl prompted Liz to move with a sharp nudge of the gun barrel still wedged under her arm. He directed her up the gangway and along a path towards the rear of another large house.

Three men were standing on the back patio, lit by a portable lantern. Liz recognised one immediately as Miles Vandenberg. He was dressed similarly to Red, a cream three piece suit accented with a wine coloured tie. He wore it uncomfortably though, the suit cheap and ill-fitted. Absolutely nothing like the image Red cut. That’s what you get for buying cheap suits, Liz chuckled to herself, and then stopped suddenly surprised. Where the hell had that thought come from?

The second man was dressed simply in jeans and a dark coloured sweater. Despite it being after dark he had a baseball cap pulled low on his head. He chewed gum and kept his eyes on the ground, never looking up at Liz or the other men. Some kind of hired hand, thought Liz, and not wholly comfortable being here tonight. 

The third guy was very young. A face full of acne and a half-hearted attempt at a wispy mo. He clutched a laptop case to his chest and looked around furtively. He looked a little jumpy, but more from excitement than any sense of worry. Liz wondered what his role was in all of this.

Miles had a smug satisfied expression on his face. The look of a man who’d just played a winning hand. His flat eyes scanned her up and down. “Well, well. What have we got here Guthrie? A female Fed?” he drawled to man beside Liz. “And a good lookin’ one. Nice catch. She’ll be even better insurance than I’d hoped. How’d the rest of the operation go?”

“Seven neutralised, one captured. All accounted for. We weren’t followed.” Guthrie growled his report in succinct facts. 

Liz cringed inwardly at the word “neutralised”. She knew there was a good chance Ressler and her team members could be dead, but hearing them stated as cold statistics made it terrifyingly real.

“We lost Hogan, the Bitch shot him,” Guthrie gestured towards Liz. “His own fault, always so damn noisy. No time to recover the body, but he’s untraceable.”

“He can be replaced. You’ve done well. Let’s get our precious cargo on the road then shall we?” Miles tongue darted across his lips as he swept his gaze across Liz again. “Very precious cargo indeed.” 

Before Liz could react Miles turned and strode off around the side of the house. Baseball cap and laptop guy followed close behind. Guthrie indicated with another sharp jab of the gun that Liz should move after them. 

As she stepped around the corner of the house she saw three vehicles parked on a wide drive. The first two were plain black sedans, they looked like Chrysler 300s. Liz had always thought they looked like gangster cars and tonight their presence seemed quite fitting. The third vehicle was a mid-sized refrigerated truck with large red “Harker Poultry” decals on the sides. The rear door was open and Liz could see boxes stacked inside.

Miles ushered laptop guy over to one of the black sedans before getting in himself. Liz watched confused as the car started up and headed off down the drive. While she was distracted Guthrie grabbed her arm and maneuvered her towards the truck. 

“Nils!” he growled, “Give me a hand.”

The young man from earlier appeared beside her. Gloved hands grasped her arms and together they lifted and threw her into the truck. The hard floor and the absolute cold hit her at the same time, slamming the breath from her lungs. She struggled to sit up, trying hard to breath through her nose and squash down the pain in her cheek and arm. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud and everything went dark. She was trapped. In a sealed refrigerated truck. With her hands tied, her mouth gagged, no gun and no communications. The truck’s engine rumbled to life. She was thrown back across the floor as it lurched into movement. Clumsily righting herself, she pressed backwards until her back met the stacked boxes. Bracing herself there she forced her mind to focus on ways to get out of this mess.

* * * * * *

Ressler was lying facedown in something that prickled against his skin. It was damp and cold and smelt like dirt and pine needles. He must be on the ground. There was a heavy weight across his legs and back, pushing him down. His eyes were closed. The thumping pain in his head was making it hard to think through things. Important things, like where was he and how did he end up like this. He could hear a voice shouting somewhere nearby and the sound of heavy steps across stone. He opened his eyes slowly and was instantly blinded by a bright light.

“He’s over here sir! We’ve found him!”, a voice yelled. He felt the weight being dragged from him and frantic hands turning him over. The movement was excruciating. The world swam around him and his throat constricted with nausea.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, “just a headache.”

A hand patted his cheek and he realised he was looking up into the eyes of Miller from Bravo Team. “What are you doing here? We brought Alpha Team with us tonight,” he slurred.

Miller was looking directly into each of his eyes, trying to assess how bad his injuries were. “You did sir. Bravo answered the distress call. There’s a bit of a bump on the back of your head but your pupils look okay. Can you stand? I need to get you out to the medic.”

Miller lifted him to his feet. He swayed there for a moment before the nausea hit. Doubling over he was violently ill on the grass, chest heaving as stars swam in front of his eyes. Somehow this felt a lot worse than a mild head injury.

It seemed to take forever to get around to the front of the house. Miller supported him as he shuffled one foot then the other, trying hard to keep the dizziness and nausea in check. The scene in the front drive confronted his senses, blue flashing lights digging into his eyes like spikes. Miller quickly got him to the back of the medic’s van and helped him sit, steadying him until the medic took over. Ressler’s thoughts were still jumbled. He knew there was something important he needed to find but the pain and the nausea were making it so hard to think straight. He tried to work backwards through what he knew, trying to remember what happened before he came to on the ground. A string of pictures flashed through his mind. Garden lights, a stone courtyard, a voice in his ear, Keen looking startled. Liz!

“Miller! Where’s Agent Keen?”, he shouted as Miller headed back around the house. Miller jogged back to answer him.

“We don’t know sir. We’re looking for her now.”

“She was just to my right,” Ressler said, “Find her!”

Miller nodded and raced back into the darkness to continue the search.


	3. Cold Storage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie's captured.

“Agent Ressler, just what kind of operation are you running here tonight?” a low voice in the dark demanded.

Ressler’s eyes snapped open. He was still sitting in the back of the van, with strict instructions from the medic not to move. Not difficult instructions to follow, every time he so much as tilted his head his vision swam and the nausea returned.

Miller had reported back over an hour ago that there had been no sign of Agent Keen. They had located both of her weapons and the comms wire she had been wearing, all thrown into the bushes behind her last known position. Footprints in the dirt indicated that she had been captured by at least two people. The perps had left via the boathouse, most likely taking Keen with them.

Ressler had demanded an update on the status of Alpha Team. They were all in a similar state to him. The medics determined they’d been dosed with some kind of sedative, the nausea and mental confusion being an after effect. The perps had lost one man, his body being the heavy weight that had pinned Ressler to the ground. Liz’s gun had been fired and ballistics would no doubt show that it was she who had taken the guy out. Ressler suppressed a shiver at this news. Where was she? Was she still alive? 

“Agent Ressler, is there anyone home?” the voice intruded on his thoughts again, dripping sarcasm.

Ressler turned his head to see Reddington standing at the van door. He tried to focus on Reddington’s face. It was like seeing underwater. When his vision finally did clear he was surprised by the expression Red now wore. If he didn’t know better he would say the older man actually looked concerned for him. He squashed the thought quickly, the last time Red had been concerned for him had been in that damn box trying to save his life. Five minutes later he’d been threatening to take it.

“Sorry Reddington, bit of a headache,” he grimaced.

Red climbed into the van and sat himself down beside Ressler. “So I see,” he said, his voice softer. “What I don’t see is Agent Keen. Where might she be?”

“We don’t know,” Ressler sighed. “It looks like they took her. They surprised us. A decoy out the front to divert attention while they snuck up from behind. Used some kind of a gas to knock everyone out. Keen shot the guy who took me out, then they must have overpowered her. Appears they left by boat. There was no sign of them by the time backup arrived.”

Stringing so many words together exhausted him. He sighed again, closing his eyes and settled back against the van wall. 

Red chewed on his lip for a moment, before standing to go. “Donald, I don’t know who’s worse - your excellence at continually losing Agent Keen, or her penchant for being kidnapped. In any case you are in absolutely no shape to be chasing any further leads tonight. I will find her.”

With that Red patted Ressler on the knee and left the van. Ressler did not have the energy to protest.

* * * * * *

Dembe held the door of the Mercedes open as Red slipped inside.

“Well it looks like our friends at the FBI aren’t going to be much use to us tonight. We’ll work this one on our own. What do we know from Ezra?” Red told Dembe.

“Very little. It was a well organised team Raymond. They did not make it easy for anyone following. Three vehicles were observed leaving an estate within an hour of the event. One was a large truck. They may or may not be involved.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I rather underestimated the resources our Mr Vandenberg has at his disposal. We’ll follow the vehicle lead. The timing’s too much of a coincidence, and the whole thing smacks of Vandenberg’s lack of finesse. Get our guy working on where those vehicles went.”

Red leaned back in the seat, a pensive look on his face. All of his days were a complicated balancing act of diplomacy and intrigue, but since his vulnerability with Lizzie had been exposed it was like a volatile wildcard had been thrown into the mix. He was the first to admit that he loved the thrill of the game, the chases, the cons, the manipulations and deceit, and most importantly, the takedowns. But lately it had become exhausting keeping on top of it all. He’d slipped up here. This should have been a simple and easy sting for the Taskforce, but Miles had obviously improved his game. He doubted Miles really knew what he’d got his hands on, not that that made Lizzie any safer. If anything it made it worse, Miles would believe she was just an expendable FBI Agent. Oh Lizzie, where the hell are you girl?

* * * * * *

Lizzie was concentrating. The first step was to get her hands free. 

She had to get rid of the cuffs. Pushing herself to her feet she struggled to slide her hands down past her butt and to the back of her thighs. The cuffs were tight and the bulk of the vest wasn’t helping. Stretching her hands down her back a couple of times she finally managed to get them partially over her butt. Her wrists screamed as the cuffs cut even deeper into them. For a brief panicked second it felt like she was stuck there, bent over in an uncomfortable half crouch and unable to move her hands either back or forwards. A desperate, breathless giggle escaped as she pictured her captors opening the back of the truck to find her frozen in such a ridiculous position.

Frozen. The iciness of the truck sent a different kind of chill through her. She had to get the use of her hands back before her fingers became too numb to be of any use. Taking a deep breath she leaned forward to rest her forehead against the cool surface of the boxes in front of her. Centering herself she slowed her breathing. One breath, two breaths, and calm. Repeat. Relaxing her body until the cuffs finally slid forward to rest against the back of her legs. Breathing a sigh of relief she sank awkwardly to the floor. 

Now for the tricky part - slipping the cuffs over her feet. She tried to stretch the plastic between her wrists as much as possible without pulling the cuffs any tighter. After some not so ladylike wriggling around on the floor both legs were finally able to slip through. 

From there it was a reasonably simple matter to reach the velcro pouch hidden in her vest and pull out another hidden tool, this time a small folding knife. Old habits die hard and she was so glad that Sam had taught her these little concealment tricks. If only she’d thought to stash a torch as well. Working carefully by touch she positioned the tiny knife blade to saw through the cuffs. It was difficult in the dark, and the rough motion of the truck made it hard to control the knife blade. A particularly large bump in the road jolted her hand and drove the knife blade into her wrist. It wasn’t serious, but she cursed and winced at the sting. Tears welled in her eyes from the pain and frustration. Damn this job! Why does everything have to get so screwed up all the time? 

She calmed her breathing again and gave herself a pep talk. No use getting worked up over this Lizzie, you’ve been in worse situations and got out of them. A little nagging voice in her head piped up with “Yes, but only because Red came to the rescue.” She remembered him in that cabin in the woods, appearing out of nowhere behind the Stewmaker just as she was giving up hope. The feeling of relief as she’d passed out, knowing with absolute certainty that he was there to save her and that everything would be alright. Her shoulder twinged in remembered pain of the ordeal. She remembered his face as she came to - looking down into his eyes and seeing something that startled her. A look of worry and care and absolute devotion.

Then she remembered his vengeance on the one who had wronged her, how easily he’d slipped off the hero mask and let the monster loose. In cold blood he’d killed for her, and that was something she could never accept. 

Not this time though. This time she didn’t need his help. This time she could get out of the mess herself. This time if there was a death in her name it would be by her hand and it would be warranted. No pretend heroes riding in at the last moment to save the day. Driven by determination to be her own saviour she had soon sawn through the remains of the cuffs.

After all the physical exertion of trying to free herself the iciness of the truck now weighed heavily and crept through all the layers of her clothes. She shivered and tried to rub some feeling back into her numb fingers. The tight cuffs had bitten into her skin and she could feel a warm wetness on her right hand where the knife wound was bleeding. Pulling the light jacket tighter around her she crept to the very back of the truck and began to feel around for the edges of the door. It was unlikely that it could be opened, but at least she could use it’s position to orientate herself in the dark.

* * * * * *

Many miles and a good few hours later the truck finally began to slow. It took a number of lazy turns as it left the highway, finally coming to a stop outside a small service station.

Liz lay curled on her left side on the truck floor, facing the direction of the door and hands held behind as if still bound. Her core temperature has dropped and she has no control over the shivering now. She listens carefully as footsteps crunch on gravel and men’s voices sound outside the rear doors. A clunk announces the heavy door latch being released and a bar of dim yellow light seeps across the floor.

A silhouette appears in the partially open doorway. By the build it’s Nils, the younger man. He stands there for a few moments before calling to someone out of view.

“Sir! There’s a lot of blood here!”

Liz curses under her breath. Her wrist must have been bleeding more than she realised while she was exploring in the dark. Maybe she could turn this to work in her favour though.

“My head …” she groans. “I fell when the truck moved.”

“She says she’s hurt,” Nils relays to other person.

“Check her over,” a voice growls. Guthrie. No mistaking that voice. “Miles wants her delivered intact.”

A torchlight clicks on, the bright light searing her eyes and blinding her for a few moments. The truck floor dips slightly as Nils jumps up and take a few steps towards where she lies. She stares up at him with what she hopes is a hurt and defenseless expression.

“It hurts,” she whispers. She shivers, no need to pretend with that one.

He kneels down, shining the torch towards the top of her head and reaching out with his free hand to move her hair aside . While he’s distracted she shifts her legs, bringing them around to knock him off his feet. Rolling with the movement, she uses the momentum to come out on top of him, her right hand driving the tiny knife blade deep into his neck. Nils grunts in surprise and drops the torch to clutch frantically at his neck. Liz can tell from the amount of blood that she’s made a direct hit. He only has a minute or so at the most.

She scrambles to her feet and grabs for the torch, flicking it off as soon as it’s in her hand. Backing quickly into the darkness where the door’s light can’t reach, she listens carefully for Guthrie’s reaction. There’s no noise from the back of the truck. If she’s lucky Guthrie hasn’t seen what’s happened. As she concentrates on calming herself and slowing her breathing she notices a movement at the door before it slams shut. Damn, he did see. Footsteps on gravel sound again, growing fainter as they move away from her. 

When everything goes quiet again she flicks the torch back on and checks on Nils. He’s bled out on the truck floor and a slick pool of blood stretches from his body towards the door. She checks him over for weapons and finds a gun in a hip holster. It’s loaded. She slips it into her belt at her back where it will be hidden by her jacket. The thought of her jacket makes her turn back to Nils’ body. He’s wearing a thick warm looking black jacket. The right hand side is wet with his blood, but she’s so cold it doesn’t matter. It takes a minute or two to roll him and divest him of the garment, her stomach recoiling at the clamminess of his rapidly cooling skin. It’s worth it once the jacket is on though, she can feel the difference it makes to her body heat almost immediately.

Continuing to check the body for anything useful turns up a flip-phone in the back pocket. It’s on and it has a signal. Without thinking her shaking hands dial the first number that comes to mind.

Distracted by the phone she hasn't heard the approaching footsteps on the gravel and the clunk of the door opening again startles her. It only opens a crack and Guthrie’s voice growls in.

“That’s two of my men you've taken out tonight lady. If Miles didn't have a use for you I’d put a bullet in you right now. Instead you can stay in there and freeze!” 

As Liz makes a move to stand and pull the gun from her waistband Guthrie throws something into the truck and slams the door again. The item hits the metal floor with a clang and clatters and hisses as it rolls. Before she can register that it’s the strange gas they used on Ressler her lips go numb, her head starts to swim and she falls to floor. 

* * * * * *

“Raymond, there’s a call coming through on one of your private numbers. The one Agent Keen uses.” Dembe reaches back to pass the phone to Red.

Red presses answer and raises the phone to his ear. He’s surprised to hear heavy breathing from the other end and a male voice yelling in the background. Some muffled bangs, followed by a louder one and a quiet groan. “Lizzie!” he yells into the phone. There’s no answer.

“It’s the truck Dembe! She’s in the truck. Get Agent Mojtabai on the phone now. We’re going to need to utilise his skills.”


	4. Freezer Burn

Liz came to in the dark. The truck engine grumbled in her ears as the floor bumped and jostled beneath her. Even in the darkness her eyes screamed in pain, a sharp ache and relentless throbbing in her head. She just wanted to lie still until the pain went away but the truck’s movement gave no relief. Her stomach turned and roiled with every bump. Nausea hit like sea-sickness and she rolled to the side as it all came up. Coughing and gasping she pushed herself up with her arms and ended arched over on her knees, crying desperately as the uncontrollable retching continued.

******

The airfield was silent at this time of the morning. The hangars stood like squat sentinels, bathed in orange light. They all had their doors stoically closed. All except one. Dembe pulled the car up to the open hangar door where Red’s jet was being readied. Aram had been able to track the location of the cellphone. By following it’s progression through various cell towers he’d identified the road the truck was on and the general direction it was headed. The plan now was to get ahead of it with the jet.

Red leapt out of the car as soon as it stopped and strode towards the jet, not waiting for Dembe. He tried to calm himself, tried to dull the worry with anger. It wasn’t working. It had now been almost six hours since Lizzie was taken and they were still miles away from her estimated position. His phone remained jammed to his ear, the call had not disconnected and he prayed the battery at Lizzie’s end would not run flat before they found her. Aside from the dull rumbling of an engine and an occasional clatter as the phone jumped around on a hard surface, the line had stayed mostly silent. Settling into one of the plane’s leather chairs he let loose a frustrated sigh. Oh Lizzie, how do you manage to get yourself into these scrapes?

Dembe entered the cabin and took the seat opposite Red. “Has there been anything Raymond?”

Red shook his head in the negative. “Just silence.”

Dembe turned worried eyes to the window. He watched the scenery go by as the plane taxied out to the runway but his thoughts were all about the missing woman. He prayed that they’d find Agent Keen in time. It terrified him how Raymond might react should anything happen to her.

******

The plane was in the air when Red was startled by a sound from the phone. It was coughing. Coughing and gasping, and then a violent retching. Lizzie! She was alive. He could hear the desperation in her cries, the panic as she fought to regain control of her body.

“Lizzie!” he yelled through the phone. “Lizzie! Pick up the phone!”

Liz was still crouched on her hands and knees. The retching had finally stopped and she stayed there paralysed, waiting for the spinning in her head to ease. It wasn’t working. Along with the pain and the nausea she was now a filthy mess. Her hands and feet were numb from the freezing cold, her face felt sore and bruised, and the rest of her joints ached. Worst of all was the uncontrollable shivering. It was so cold. She focused on catching her breath and opening her eyes. 

It didn’t do much good. The inside of the truck was still in complete darkness and thanks to the lingering after effects of the gas all she saw were flashes and stars in front of her eyes. Groaning she turned her body to settle down on a hopefully un-messy part of the floor and pulled Nils’ coat tighter around her. The rumble of the truck continued steadily on, so they were still traveling. She wondered how long she’d been out.

There was another noise though. Someone speaking. It was very quiet, muffled, a radio voice. She turned her head from side to side, trying to get a better fix on where it was coming from. The sudden movement made her head spin again and prompted another few seconds of stillness until the horrible sensation subsided.

There it was again, someone calling her name. The phone! She began to frantically feel around herself for where it had fallen and came across the torch instead. Flicking on the light revealed the rear of the truck, and how much of a mess she’d made. Moving carefully so as not to jolt her head again she began sweeping the floor with the torchlight, searching for the phone. It had landed not far from her and slid until it was jammed up against Nils’ leg. By luck it had avoided all of the sticky mess on the floor. Grabbing for it she put it to her ear just as Red yelled again.

“Lizzie!”

“I’m here,” she croaked, her throat raw and prickly. 

“Thank goodness,” Red sighed, dropping the volume of his voice. They sat in silence for a few moments, Red listening to her catch her breath.

“Are you hurt?” he finally asked. She flinched at the echoing of his words from that day with Tom.

“No,” she murmured, “I’m not hurt, just sick. And cold.” Too sick to save herself at the moment. Too sick to protest at him riding in like the cavalry again. Too cold to think of anything much beyond her numb extremities and aching head.

“You’re in the truck?” Red needed to confirm her location.

Liz relayed what she knew, about the truck, about Guthrie, about being knocked out by the strange gas. She didn’t tell him how ill she felt or how helpless. She didn’t say how relieved she was to hear his voice, so relieved she just wanted to burst into tears there and then. Instead she listened to him as he described their plan to stop the truck.

“You’ll need to be ready Lizzie. It won’t be a pleasant ride.”

She could hear the worry in his voice. The edge it took when he was trying, and failing, to keep his emotions under control.

“I’ll be fine Red,” she said, her voice a whisper, “just get me out of here.” 

******

Almost three hours later and Red’s plan is in play. Aram has been tracking the phone and relaying the truck’s approximate location. 

“They’re still on I-70,” his last call to Red indicated.

“Chicago,” Red sighed.

“Chicago?” Aram couldn’t see how Red made the leap from I-70 to Chicago, but then the man was seldom wrong.

“Yes. Tell Donald Miles is in Chicago. I’ll handle Agent Keen. And Aram, thank-you for your assistance.” The call cut out.

******

It’s still early morning in Ohio. The sun’s not due to rise for another hour or more and the temperature’s hovering stubbornly just below freezing. Three SUVs sit on the shoulder awaiting further instructions. The land to either side of the highway stretches flat and open. They’re a few miles past an on-ramp where a lookout’s been stationed. The lookout surveys the road eastwards through an open drivers side window, his breath steaming in the crisp pre-morning air. Headlights approach from the East and he’s on the radio.

“Vehicle approaching, target sighted. Repeat, target sighted.”

It’s not long before the truck reaches the SUVs. As it passes they glide smoothly out onto the road and begin their pursuit. The truck tries to accelerate away but it’s no match for the smaller vehicles. They pull into formation around the truck, effectively boxing it in. Before the truck driver can react gunmen in the SUVs take out the front right and the rear drive tyres. As quickly as they arrived the SUVs pull away, giving the truck plenty of space. It swerves suddenly to the right then fishtails wildly up the roadway as the driver fights for control. It’s a futile battle, the truck is effectively hobbled and uncontrollable. In a rain of sparks it lurches again to the right, mounts the flimsy fence at the shoulder and lands heavily nose first in the drainage ditch. It’s momentum continues to carry it forwards, ploughing it deeply into the grass and dirt.

The SUVs pull to the shoulder and four men pour out. Heavily armed and clad in black combat gear, they quickly approached the truck cab. They’re firing into the crushed cab long before Guthrie or the truck driver can release themselves from the crashed vehicle. 

After a barked “Clear!” Red and Dembe also exit one of the SUV’s and make their way to the rear of the truck. Dembe opens the heavy locking mechanism while Red stands by, gun drawn.

The truck door swings open revealing a mess of toppled boxes. The rear floor is slick with blood. Dembe quickly leaps in and begins tossing boxes aside as if they weigh nothing. A pair of legs appear, men’s legs. It’s Nils’ body crumpled and contorted into an impossible position. Continuing to clear boxes Dembe finally finds Liz. She’s wedged up against a pallet of boxes that hasn’t shifted, and out cold. 

“I’ve got her Raymond.” 

Red joins him in the truck and is immediately beside Lizzie’s prone form. She’s disheveled, covered in blood and sick and wearing a filthy oversized jacket. Even in this state she still looks beautiful. He checks her over gently, feeling for a pulse and any obvious injuries, before lifting her into his arms.

“She’s safe now Raymond.” Dembe murmurs, placing his large hand on Red’s shoulder. “I’ll help you down.”

They place her across the back seat of the SUV, her head and shoulders cradled in Red’s lap. Her skin feels icy to Red’s touch. He worries about hypothermia from her long ordeal in the refrigerated truck. Without speaking Dembe passes him the survival blanket from the first aid kit. He wraps it around her and pulls her closer to his own body heat.

Outside the men are sorting through the mess in the back of the truck. Dembe heads over to investigate one of the boxes and turns to hold up a white plastic wrapped package to Red. Red nods once and returns his worried gaze to Lizzie’s unconscious face. Her face is smeared with blood and he can see now that there’s a livid bruise across her cheek. The amount of blood coating her clothes worries him, but she doesn’t seem to have an obvious injury that would cause that much bleeding. He gently moves a strand of hair from her face and lays his hand gently, protectively against her head.

“Everything’s going to be alright sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be alright.”

Dembe motions to the men to load everything back into the truck. Minutes later he’s back. As he pulls the SUV around to head back to the airstrip an explosion sounds and the truck goes up in flames behind them.

******

Liz wakes disorientated. Her surroundings are honey coloured, a dim golden glow lighting up the ceiling above. She groans and rolls to the side, sighting a leather chair and realising that she recognises this place. Red’s plane - but how did she get here? She remembered the truck swerving violently and unsecured boxes flying past her, but nothing after that. The plan must have gone off okay and they’d rescued her.

Her head though. This headache’s a killer. She raises her hand tentatively to her head and gently touches the large bump near her crown. That probably explains not knowing how she got here. The movement shifts the layers of blankets she is lying under and she realises that for the first time in hours she is finally toasty warm. Toasty warm and so very sleepy. Tucking her arm back under she snuggles deep down into their softness.

“It’s good to see you awake.” a deep warm voice breaks the silence. The words don’t startle, but rather wrap around her like caramel. Despite her usual internal protests she feels strangely safe within them.

“Red …” she sighs, eyes closed and unmoving in her blanket cocoon.

“Your head must hurt. I’ve got some painkillers here for you.”

She hears him rise from a leather chair across the aisle. He must have been sitting there watching her the whole time. Then he’s kneeling beside her, a hand on her shoulder urging her to sit up. Normally she’d fight this, fueled by a fierce independence and the never-ending need to not allow him any further control. Right here, right now though she felt too awful to even bother making a fuss.

He slips his arm around behind her shoulders and gently pulls her upright. This close she can smell nothing but his cologne, his signature scent, and his calm warmth. It could so easily be intoxicating, so easily make her come undone … if he wasn’t who he was. If he hadn’t done what he’d done.

His voice breaks into her reverie. “The doctor said you’ll be feeling very weak and disorientated for a while. Maybe a little dizzy and nauseous. It’s just a side-effect of the gas and will pass. The bump on your head is okay, no lasting damage.”

“The doctor?” she breathes, finally opening her eyes and turning to look at him. With his arm around her shoulders his face is so close. Green eyes gaze steadily into her wide open blues. She notices the dark circles beneath them, the lack of sleep written clearly on his face.

“Yes, you were unconscious and suffering mild hypothermia. She also stitched and dressed the wound on your wrist.”

Liz glanced down and noticed the white dressing on her left wrist. She also noticed that she was no longer wearing her own clothes, but was instead in an oversized white tshirt and sweatpants. Someone had undressed her while she was unconscious. Surely not Red! Her cheeks blushed red with embarrassment at the thought.

Sensing her distress Red squeezed her arm. 

“It’s okay, the nurse changed you into clean clothes after they examined you at the medical centre. So much blood. We weren’t sure how much of it was yours.”

“Oh …” she exhaled, relieved.

She downed the painkillers he offered and handed the cup back, turning her head to gaze once more into his eyes. His arm remained a warm and steady comfort against her shoulders and both seemed reluctant to move. It’s Red who looks away first, turning to gently lay her back down again and then fussing with her blankets.

“Thank-you,” she says quietly, still watching his eyes. As the words leave her lips she realises that this is the first time she’s really said them to him. It stops him. He seems unsettled, eyes opened wider in surprise. She watches fascinated as the always unflappable Concierge of Crime seems suddenly unsure of himself and retreats a safe distance to the leather chair across from her.


	5. Letdown

Her eyes open to darkness again. The floor shifting and shaking, a motor rumbling loud in her ears. She was still in the truck! 

Was the moment with Red only a dream? Shivering uncontrollably she shoves numb hands up under her arms, desperately seeking the last traces of body heat. It was so, so cold. How much longer would this last? How much longer could she last before she froze? The truck rumbled on. 

The torch battery had given up some time ago. After the phone call with Red she had used it to explore the boxes she shared her prison with. They held chickens - frozen, plastic wrapped and ready to roast. They also held a few other plastic wrapped goodies. The third box she opened was packed with bricks of white powder. Was this Miles’ important shipment? It didn't seem to fit with what they knew. She was far too cold and her brain still muddled from Guthrie’s gas to think it all through clearly. The non-stop noise and motion of the truck was making her queasy. Staying warm until Red could get her out of there was the priority now.

Finding herself a gap between the boxes where she was shielded from the refrigerator’s fan, she’d sunk to the floor and huddled into the soiled jacket. Sleep had come slowly.

Wide awake now, she tried to make out shapes in the darkness. A change in the noises around her made her jump - a sliding, scraping sound. Cloth against metal and the thud of something wet and heavy against the truck floor. Scrabbling for the phone she hit the power button and pointed the dim screen light in the direction of the sounds. Nothing.

Swung the phone to the right. Nothing. To the left and her hand muffled the first scream as two dark glassy eyes stared back at her from the gloom. Blood stained lips pulled back in a harsh leer as Nils rose to his feet and lurched forward. 

“sssssssssss …” His head lolled wildly to the side as the wet, spongy sound exited the hole in his neck. She shrank further back against the boxes, hands raised in defense. Nils’ bloody grinning spectre staggered closer. 

“sssssssss …” Blood bubbled and frothed down his chin. As he reached out a clawing hand to her she gave up any pretense of control and let loose a scream of absolute terror.

* * * * * *

Red was dozing in the leather chair. It had been such a long night and they still had another hour’s flying time. Lizzie had dropped peacefully off to sleep after the painkillers and he’d taken advantage of the opportunity to do likewise. 

He was jolted from his slumber by a bloodcurdling scream. Leaping from his chair he was surprised to see Lizzie backed up against the wall of the plane. Hair disheveled and eyes wide, her face contorted in absolute terror. Her hands were raised, desperately fighting off an unseen adversary. 

“No! No! Get away from me!” she cried. “Leave me alone. Please leave me alone!” She shrank back further along the couch, retreating from whatever it was that only her eyes could see.

“Lizzie!” Red called, rushing to her side. “Lizzie! You need to wake up! Sweetheart, it’s only a dream!” Stuck in her dream, her glazed eyes looked right through him as she continued to fight. She struck out and landed a stinging blow across his face. 

“Get away from me! No! Please no!” Lizzie continued to yell and fight, tears now streaking down her face.

Alerted by the scream Dembe had rushed in. 

“She’s having a nightmare!” Red barked.

“No!” Lizzie yelled, swinging wildly at Red again.

Surveying the situation, Dembe quietly moved behind to pin Lizzie’s arms in a firm but gentle hold. Liz bucked and wrestled against Dembe’s restraint, but the big man patiently held her so she could cause no further damage to them or herself. 

Red licked his swelling lip and tasted the sting of copper. “Lizzie!” he called again, his voice firmer this time. “I need you to wake up now.” 

He held her face between his hands and looked directly into her tear filled eyes. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s only a dream.”

“Red!” she screamed, still looking through him. “Red! I’m in here!”

“I’m here Lizzie, it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

As he continued to speak in firm but gentle tones her eyes regained focus and the fight left her body. 

“Red …” she whispered, before slumping back against Dembe’s chest exhausted. Blinking in confusion, her eyes darted from Red’s concerned face to Dembe’s hands now resting lightly on her shoulders.

“What happened?” she asked, still dazed. 

“You had a nightmare sweetheart. It’s okay now.” Red soothed. He reached for her hand and rubbed calming circles as she adjusted to her surroundings.

Sensing that the crisis was over Dembe released his hold and stepped away, before heading quietly back to the cockpit.

Liz shivered in her sweat-soaked clothes. The feelings of terror remained and a fragility that threatened to have her in tears again. Embarrassed at her apparent outburst in front of both Red and Dembe, she dropped her eyes and concentrated on her hand grasped in Red’s. His thumb continued to lightly stroke her palm, her scar. She realised he was once again on his knees before her.

“Can you tell me what you saw?” he asked gently. 

“What I saw?” she murmured. Nils bloodstained face leers in her vision again and she flinches, pulling her hand suddenly free of Red’s calming touch. “No!” The word comes out unbidden, a strangled terrified sound in a voice she does not recognise.

Red looks up startled by her reaction. Her eyes are wild again, staring right through him. It only lasts a moment and she’s back, lucid but shaking. Breathing huge panicked lungfuls of air. As if sensing their lost connection she grabs instinctively for his hand and holds it tight in both of hers. They stay frozen that way while her breathing calms, falling eventually into a slow rhythm with his. When her grip on his arm relaxes he moves to sit beside her on the couch and pulls her close. His arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest. 

For a moment he doesn't speak, just holds her. The closeness of him, his warmth, the firmness of his arm - it contrasts so totally with how she’s feeling. Fragile, shattered. It doesn't take long for the tears to come. Turning she presses her face against the solidness of his chest and sobs. He holds her tighter and places tiny chaste kisses against her hair, whispering “You’re okay”.

When the tears stop she stays clinging to the safety of him. Listening to the calming beat of his heart, relaxing into his warmth and the clean scent of his shirt. She shouldn't be doing this, should not have let her guard down. Need overrides duty as she falls into his words and the tender touch of his lips against her hair.

* * * * * *

This time she awakes from a mostly dreamless sleep. Red’s steady heartbeat still sounds against her ear, it's cadence enveloping her with calmness and safety. Warm breath, deep and steady, tickles a strand of hair against her cheek while his arm across her shoulders holds her safe and close. 

She wriggles her hand free from where it’s wrapped around his middle and slowly raises her head to view his face. He’s sleeping peacefully, face relaxed and a serene smile playing on his lips. She watches for a moment - it’s the first time she has seen him this unguarded, completely open and unmasked. 

His arm slips from her shoulders as she straightens up, open hand sliding gently down her side and coming to rest against her butt. She freezes in shock, before grinning cheekily - how fitting for him to be asleep and missing such an opportunity. A brief thought on whether she should move the hand before she decides to just leave it there. 

Positioning herself so that she can properly see him she takes in as much as she can while he’s this exposed. Her eyes trace the lines of his face. So much life he must have lived, so many fantastic places that face has seen. And so much horror and heartbreak too. She studies the way his eyelashes curl against his cheek, the perfect cut of his sideburns and the light shadow of red stubble across his jaw. She watches his lips as they move with each deep, sleepy breath. His lips had always held a fascination, mesmerising her as he'd relate another of his colourful stories. Men’s lips had never been this fascinating before. Was it the particular shape of his that drew her in? Or the way they moved, so animated, as he talked? And so perfectly pink, the only soft part of him revealed on the mask he wore. Soft and pink ... and the bottom one a little bruised and bloodied. She suddenly realises that she must have done this to him earlier. Instinctively she raises a hand to his face and caresses the broken skin in regret.

His lips are soft, and his warm breath tingles against her finger tips. Running her hand along his cheekbone, she continues with a featherlight touch down to his jaw. 

His breathing has shallowed and she senses his eyes are watching her. His hand feels impossibly warm as it tightens against her butt, holding her, pulling her to him. Suddenly timid, she raises wide blue eyes to meet his. And then she’s falling, falling into their green depths, falling into a look of absolute love and devotion, falling into him.

Until it stops. Fear in his eyes as he removes his hand, shifts away breaking the spell. The mask back in place as he asks if she’s okay now, extricates himself and returns once more to his leather chair. Confused, she can only nod.


End file.
